No Competition
by CayshaGriffin
Summary: Mycroft kidnaps, Sherlock texts. John and Lestrade are used to this. But are they prepared for what the Holmes boys are up to now? Mycroft/John Sherlock/Lestrade


Story: Mycroft kidnaps, Sherlock texts. These are two things John and Lestrade are used to. But possibly not in this context.

Disclaimer: These characters and the actors who play them are not mine, unfortunately.

AN: This so far is a one-shot, we'll see how it's received here and maybe I'll try to continue it. Hope you all enjoy my first bit of Sherlock fic. :)

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It was after a conversation with Mycroft, more like a scolding on his improper attitude toward British nobility, that the elder Holmes brought up the topic of one detective inspector Lestrade.

"He's not a bad looking fellow."

It seemed an innocent enough comment, if your last name was something other then Holmes.

Sherlock looked up from his microscope, nose wrinkled. "I can only imagine it's primary means is to make up for horrifying lack of deductive reasoning and above average intelligence. And why are you even here, I thought you'd left ages ago." He muttered before going back to his microscope and adjusting the lens. "Word to the wise, Mycroft. Leave my DI alone."

Mycroft quirked a brow, letting Sherlock return to studying his particle of dust or spec of blood that was no doubt the savior of some poor souls life or livelihood.

"Interesting," the elder Holmes mused out loud to the annoyance of the younger. "For all you knew I was speaking of your flat mate."

"You think John is charming and lovely, not attractive. You've said so on many occasions, but I doubt he's taken the bait just yet, brother. Lord willing if he took interest, you might even prance about like a fairy princess." Sherlock deemed it fitting to wave his arms around childishly to illustrate his meaning before going back to his somber studying.

A huffing sound made Sherlock smirk though. Point to the younger Holmes then. Though, Mycroft had no intention of letting the score stand thus.

"Either way I wasn't aware the inspector was yours to stake a claim on. After all, he is married, Sherlock," he tutted with amusement.

"He wears the ring for symbolism sake, even though he's aware she's shagging the P.E. teacher. It's a testament of his…" Sherlock gave a frustrated growl. "Averageness that he stays with her."

Mycroft chuckled. "Or it could be love that binds them," sounding flippant with the word, as if he'd blamed Santa Claus for Lestrade's reasoning.

Sherlock spun in his chair to face Mycroft who was perched on John's chair and poking at the skull atop the mantelpiece with the pointy end of his umbrella, a horribly bored expression on his sharp features. Sherlock rescued the bit of anatomy from Mycroft who simply trained his eyes up at his little brother.

"Even Lestrade isn't blind enough to think she still…"

"I meant that the inspector still loves his wife, brother dear, not the reverse," was the calm interruption, but Mycroft was still smirking, both hands resting atop the handle of his umbrella. It was a pose Sherlock knew well enough and despised in it's smug knowing. "But of course…" the politicians squinted at Sherlock. "You could convince the inspector that he chooses ill places to lay his love."

Sherlock snorted indignantly. "Poetic, Mycroft. But I'm not your personal cupid. Enjoy your meeting with Lestrade. I'm sure you'll turn him absolutely pink with your affections."

The note of jealousy was not lost on Mycroft who stood from John's chair and brushed imaginary lint from his suit. Nor was the squeak of the door opening downstairs that both men knew so well.

"Dear brother, I promise I have no interest in the detective inspector. But it is refreshing to see you do."

Sherlock furrowed his brow, looking his brother up and down. He'd missed something.

"You've just had a fresh haircut and a manicure." He inhaled sharply. "The colognes not your usual, tamer. Less intimidating, more pleasant. And you've got a new on to show off the three pounds you've lost."

Mycroft tilted his chin up proudly at all this rather then argue. Which baffled Sherlock all the more.

"If not for Lestrade, then who are you parading around for?"

Mycroft grinned like the cat that got the canary. "I did happen to mention my intended kidnapee."

"Sherlock, is your brother here? I'd rather worry about the black car outside if not, and still worry a bit if it is?" John said as he came up the stairs two at a time as he was want to do since ditching the cane.

The ex-army doctor froze in the doorway to the flat when he saw the Holmes brother staring at him, one with a look of surprise, the other very cheerfully, a bit too cheerfully really.

John narrowed his eyes suspiciously at each man in turn. "What's…going on?" He asked slowly, carefully.

Mycroft, smooth as a devil in a three piece suit, stepped forward with a dapper bounce in his step. "What's going on, Dr. Watson, is my little brother is refusing to perform his duties for Queen and country as always. And so I find myself relying upon your…humble services as I often find myself doing."

Sherlock had to turn and swiftly pick up his violin to hide the smirk on his lips and also put weight behind Mycrofts excuse since there was no case to in question to back up such a claim.

John looked to the detective for confirmation but was only privy to Sherlock Holmes back and the screech of an annoyed violin. The doctor gave a long suffering sigh.

"Fine! Wasn't as if I had plans anyways." Which was an obvious lie based simply on how nicely John was dressed. At least he would suit the restaurant Mycroft had no doubt booked in advance.

Mycroft himself was taking a leisurely assessment of how John was 'dressed' and Sherlock gave his flat mate merit for how quickly John's expression went from confusion to realization the politician was in fact giving him a once over.

"I'm sure your previous engagement will keep for a later time." Mycroft crooned before moving past John, umbrella end first as the elder Holmes descended the stairs.

John turned to ask Sherlock what was going on when Mycrofts voice floated back up the stairs. "Come along, John." The doctors mouth shut and a sour look overtook John's face before he glowered at Sherlock and followed after the embodiement of the British government.

Sherlock lifted bow from strings with a smirk once he was sure they'd gone. He was half convinced a good time would be had in simply following the pair, just to see the dumbfounded expression when John discovered this was Mycroft's way of asking the man out.

In fact, the detective was already reaching for scarf and coat when his phone trilled at him. Thinking it already some panicked text from John, he retrieved the mobile with a smirk. But was proven wrong immediately.

'Double homicide. Locked doors, no forced entry, no murder weapon. Will you come?'

L

'Boring. Father did it'

SH

'Well as fascinating as that might be, I'd prefer you bringing that theory down here and explaining it'

L

Sherlock quirked a brow. An entire sentence from Lestrade, couldn't be a good night for the DI. If he was quick, Sherlock could snatch John up from Mycroft before the two left.

'Anderson?'

SH

'Unfortunately.'

L

'Fine. But I get to explain in excruciating detail how incompetent he is.'

Sh

'Deal.'

L

Sherlock smirked, prepared to go when his phone trilled again.

'Hold on. How'd you know there was a father to begin with?'

L

'All good things to those who wait, my dear inspector.'

SH

Unfortunately for Sherlock Holmes, his fingers had moved faster then his brain for once and pressed send before the suggestiveness of his text hit home. He waited, going completely still as he waited for some irate or confused text in response from Lestrade. But nothing came. That was more worrisome by far.

Upon arriving, Sherlock did spend a good five minutes explaining to Anderson and all the officers and detectives at the crime scene just how daft and blind he was and that letting him onto a crime scene was a mockery of good intelligence gone to waste in the higher ups. Going on into detail on how the two teenage boys had obviously been killed by their father as plainly as the mud on Anderson's boots said he'd been in Donovan's neighborhood recently.

All the while the greasy forensics specialist, a title which made Sherlock laugh, had glowered at the consulting detective. But Sherlock also caught a glimpse now and then of Lestrade, trying his best to cover up a smirk as he watched the detective lay into one of his officers. But it was also Lestrade who eventually shut it down.

"Alright boys, put 'em away and lets get this bastard back to the Yard." The inspector said seriously to the handcuffed man who was still looking boggled at Sherlock, even as he was hauled away.

Lestrade sighed and turned to Sherlock as the scene cleared and the inspector steered them outside while the coroners and forensics did what they had to in order to back Sherlock's verdict. Lestrade lighting up once they'd stepped out into the wet night.

"Better?" The greying detective asked as he exhaled a stream of smoke that Sherlock watched like an alert hunting dog.

Though the detective looked a tad confused at the question. "I don't follow."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Even open and shut, as you so eloquently called it in there, I thought any case would do you some good after weeks of nothing."

"How did you-"

"I read John's blog, remember? Besides, better to offer up Anderson for a public dressing down then another call about gunshots being fired at 221b."

Sherlock scoffed. "I didn't know you cared, inspector," he said snidely.

But Lestrade was chuckling"And I didn't know I was your 'dear' inspector."

Sherlock opened his mouth to give a scathing remark, but all that came out was, "Ah."

He wasn't properly equipped for this conversation. Best to retreat and regroup till he had the proper ammunition. So Sherlock turned to leave and just as quickly turned again to face a very confused Lestrade once more.

"Drinks."

Lestrade blinked. "Whut?"

Sherlock sighed. "Drinks, in a pub. Greasy fish and chips and all that. I'm still bored."

Lestrade opened his mouth, shut it and tried again. "Sherlock…are you asking me out on a date?"

The detective bristled. "You and John do it all the time!" He argued.

"John and I are mates. Are we suddenly mates now?" Asked a very confused Lestrade.

"I never said that." Sherlock replied cryptically.

Lestrade looked even more confused and Sherlock was getting impatient when the silence stretched on for more then a few seconds.

"Well?" Sherlock said impatiently and almost made the inspector jump in response. Lestrade looked at him oddly, probably judging the sincerity of the offer. Then the inspector dropped his cigarette and crushed it under the heel of his shoe. "Alright."

Sherlock nodded curtly and turned on his heel to leave, Lestrade easily falling in step with the detective as he blew the last stream of cigarette smoke into the air.

"This goes bust I'm teaching you how to ask someone out proper." Lestrade quipped casually.

"It's not a date." Sherlock practically growled, to which Lestrade just smirked.

"Course it's not," he chuckled.

Sherlock took that chance to look at the inspector's hand to make sure his eyes hadn't mistaken the lack of gold band on his ring finger.

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AN: I absolutely love reviews and please let me know if this should be continued. :)


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